Of Homes & Houses (II)

Wooden plank saying ‘Padharo Sa’ which translates to ‘Welcome’.

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I am not I.
I am this one
walking beside me whom I do not see,
whom at times I manage to visit,
and whom at other times I forget;
the one who remains silent while I talk,
the one who forgives, sweet, when I hate,
the one who takes a walk when I am indoors,
the one who will remain standing when I die.

Juan Ramón Jiménez

Probably, like many of you or perhaps no one at all, I find myself trying to figure out the true meaning of ‘home’ quite often, as I once did in this post. Maybe that’s why it was entitled ‘I’, as if my soul knew I would soon find myself on the thresholds of new homes and houses, both physically and energetically, and would sit at my new desk trying to give words to my fleeting understanding of the term. A definition fragile like water, changing shapes but not its true nature, or like glass, liquid to solid and then, if put through the same transformative process, back to liquid again. Doesn’t that make us more human? Certainty, rationality, and trying to make sense of all things? We can’t just sit back and witness things (and/or people) for what they are. We project, label, and demand concrete reasons for everything that happens to us and to those we love, but this fixation dissipates when it comes to our seemingly arch rivals, and explanations boil down to being a result of their karma. Anyway, enough about the mean-spirited humans.

In each house I’ve called home, I’ve sensed the silent whisper of a Self walking beside me, unseen yet deeply felt. As walls and locations change, so too does my understanding of identity, molded by energies both kind and harsh. I surrender to life’s flow, realizing that it is not I who chooses the home, but the home that chooses me, shaping my soul bit by bit. Like the inner self in the poem, I navigate the dance of visible routines and invisible shifts, finding my true home within, a sanctuary untouched by external chaos. In this perpetual journey, I have begun to embrace the duality of being and becoming, rooted in the constancy of my inner world while flowing with the tides of change. My ancestors were among those uprooted by the partition, forced to abandon the lives they knew, their hard-earned wealth, and cherished homes to save their lives. They carried the partition within them, a wound of exile that lingered. My grandfather’s longing to catch glimpse of his long lost village on Google maps everyday when he came to our house in the evening, was a daily reminder of this loss. Yet, I find healing in believing that wherever I set foot becomes my home. In the peace I create wherever I am at any moment in time, I mend the wounds of my bloodline, a task left to me alone, for no one else in the family seems to understand the urgency of the blood. The only task is to not be in exile whilst being inside our house.

Since my return to India, various incidents have underscored the importance of both living with my parents and experiencing solitude, at least for a while. Here in my parents’ orbit, I love the luxury of not having to wash dishes all day, cook three meals despite being catered with a buffet (which I didn’t like), and the freedom to simply laze about. When I moved, I thought we move with our home within, but after I arrived, I realized I can move away, but the moment my family starts living with me, the meaning of home changes. It becomes something I associate with them and can’t imagine otherwise. Everyone has their quirks and characteristics. We share secrets, fight, play, and laugh together, and when there’s a mistake, we all try to fix it—unlike when we are dealing with the world, where making mistakes isn’t allowed.

Each household and every house where one lives throughout their life has a distinct character. Be it the pesky neighbours in one, constant bickering of pigeons in the balcony of another, the loud frolic of children in the kindergarten right in front of my window at my dorm in Scotland, or the street dogs I’ve named ‘Sukku’ and ‘Goru’ at our current house. I called them by these names three times, and it gave them a sense of belonging, or so I feel. Maybe they just belong to the dog food I feed them, but at least I have someone to direct my overflowing love at—someone to smother with hugs like a child. They never revolt and my heart which sometimes aches with love finds a vent. Each house is more than just four walls. Even if the routine doesn’t change, life changes—almost completely. Even if we don’t feel the change upfront, the subtle changes our mind and body adapt to gradually make us a different person, even if we think we are just the same as we were years before.

When we grow up and visit our old houses—houses that have become nothing but shrines or, for some, graveyards of our memories—we either get overwhelmed or feel indifferent. When the houses change too frequently, the second emotion reigns. Sometimes, our soul rebels, as if it doesn’t belong. We don’t feel at home in our own house, and the moment the house changes, we feel at ease. I always wonder why this happens. Call it Vastu or energy, I strongly believe where we live plays a very important role in our life’s progress and our holistic well-being. Yet I believe the true home is always within. After all, how can we be so sure that those who don’t have four walls to call their home don’t belong? Isn’t the whole world a no man’s land? There is a reason why hundreds of people gave away their lives during Khejarli Massacre, to protect the trees they felt a belonging to. We’ll fail in turning the house to a home if we don’t like the company we have within those walls, or our own company if we live alone. I wonder what my feelings will be, if I visit my old house or dorm again? Will I initially start crying reminiscing the bygones and eventually feel grateful I don’t live in places that brought me up but also shielded me from the world during the darkest periods of my life anymore? Will I regret not visiting the parks and brooks nearby more often, not going for more walks, and not befriending more trees? Or will I never even initiate visiting them because the past doesn’t exist except in my memories? All I know is if I get a chance to relive it all, I’ll deny. And if I’m forced to, I’ll be a little unreal, with more facade and fewer words, putting way less trust in people.

When the space is borrowed—or what we call rented—the freedom is only symbolic, not real, regardless of how expensive the condo or suite is, or how posh the locality. Impulses get suppressed almost instinctively, whether it’s playing loud music, painting on the walls, drilling holes everywhere to put up photographs we click, or covering the walls with our little painted masterpieces (only in our own head). Call me old school, as I am—proudly, in almost everything—this freedom is why I think even if our house is small, as long as it is our own, we are luckier than many. Besides, it’s just ungrounding to stay suspended in the air, don’t you think? Writing this in my fifth abode, I can confidently say that it is the house that calls you based on the experiences your soul is ready for, not the other way around. As I said for the valley in this post. I am energetically sensitive—very, very sensitive. I’ve experienced presence of malevolent spirits in one house & God in others, all of which played a role in my perception of reality.

This sensitivity is what makes us more porous and multilingual, bringing us into conversation with the many languages of the world around us.

Toko-pa Turner

When I was nearing my thesis submission in Scotland, I thought I would move to London permanently. And when I left India, I thought I would never get to live in our new house. I bought things with this mindset too. Alas, all of them found a new home. It’s hilarious how I’ve often over-bought, over-thought, over-prepared, or over-indulged in something, thinking it might help me in a future situation. It never did. It never does. All of it either goes to donation (which I don’t regret) or vaporizes (energetically speaking), leaving me wondering what conspired it, or who and for what purpose. And most importantly, what makes me think I have it under control? Living abroad is not for me, but deciding how my life goes isn’t in my hands either, so never say never. Just as our knowledge grows and what we once considered facts expire, so do our plans with the eventualities of life. Our houses keep an energetic footprint of it all. Whenever I’ll have my own house, with my own money, I’ll mark a fingerprint at the front door, as if asserting that this piece of land is my – the daughter of the family – unique barcode, at least for whatever time it’ll be mine. Maybe, this will console & comfort my ancestors, who’ve been extremely supportive of me always, even more. There’s a part of me which is ready to change houses as many times as my life demands of me but there’s another part which sings, “Abhi na jao chhodh kar” to the house every-time I set my foot out to move on the next one(s).

Love,

P

🎵: Today’s strings attached.

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